


Wilderness Training for Dummies

by Thorne



Series: Roadtrip [1]
Category: Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorne/pseuds/Thorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian can't catch a fish, Aaron loses his underwear, and Brendan suffers a crisis of sexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wilderness Training for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for soupypictures for the 3rd Swimming FPF ficathon.

They had a late start. Not because of practice, which was over by nine, but because Brendan had to find someone who would feed and walk his dog, and Aaron couldn't find his lucky hat, and Ian was on the phone talking to the usual array of people to call up and notify about where the hell they were going to be for the next two days. Brendan had his own list like that. Most of the numbers were on a piece of paper by the phone, and some wiseass-- probably Aaron-- had scrawled on top of the list, "_Dial In Case Of World Ending or Brendan Losing His Virginity_." Aaron was currently fifth on the list, and Brendan was seriously thinking about busting him down to _fifteenth_, or something suitably demoralizing.

Ian was sixth, but that was only because Aaron had the alphabetical first name advantage. It didn't matter; he knew most of the numbers by heart anyway.

The point remained: they were late, and Brendan didn't especially like being late, especially when it was for inexplicable reasons like zoning out in front of his telephone for a good ten minutes, staring at Ian Crocker's telephone number which he already knew. And it was even more pointless because Ian was actually no more than twenty feet away, finished with his calling, mostly-asleep on Brendan's couch, and waiting for Aaron to stop crashing around upstairs so that they could go on their camping trip.

It wasn't exactly a tradition because there was no set schedule. They didn't always go to the same place; they never had a day permanently fixed on the calendar, but they always seemed to squeeze it in at least four or five times a year, mostly in the late summer and early fall. This time it was more like the beginning of summer, but it was still summer and that was what counted.

"You know, I thought it was my turn to make us late, not Aaron," Ian said from the couch. "And this was his idea, too."

"Yeah, I know." Brendan looked over at Ian, and then went to sit on the arm of the couch, poking at Ian's shoulder. "Don't fall asleep, man. You know how grumpy you get when you have to wake up again after only a few minutes."

"Mmkay," Ian replied, and contradictorily sank deeper into the couch cushions with his eyes closed.

Lateness or not, it wasn't bad enough to really upset either of them, and someone was always late anyway. The main hassle with getting on the road was assuring everyone else that they weren't about to go off and wipe their asses with poison ivy, or eat poisonous berries, or fuck a yeti or something. PR had lately started throwing unholy shit fits about the weirdest things. They didn't even have a name for their trip because they didn't always go to the same campgrounds or lake; it was always just the roadtrip, regardless of distance or destination. It didn't even really deserve italics or capitals. Brendan had a suspicion that everyone else probably referred to it as "Wilderness Training for Dummies."

"Coach Reese said if we don't come back, we have to come up with three replacements or swim the medley relay from beyond the grave," Ian said with his eyes still closed. Brendan stared at his eyelashes, which were actually pretty dark for someone with blond hair, but tipped very slightly with gold at the ends.

"Yeah?" he asked, still staring. They really were long eyelashes. "He says that every time."

"And no one's allowed to skinny-dip or let Aaron do his Braveheart impression in front of witnesses again."

"No one appreciates my art," Aaron said, from above and leaning over the banister. He started coming down the stairs, waving his hat triumphantly.

"Look who decided to show up," Brendan said as Aaron jumped down the last four stairs, landing on the floor with a room-shaking thud. "The good-for-nothing. I figured you got lost up there."

Aaron waved it off. "Practically did. You hid all my stuff away in the back of that closet."

"Dude, you're not living here anymore. You gotta take those boxes to your house one of these days."

"Then I wouldn't have an excuse to visit." Aaron shook Ian's shoulder. "C'mon, sunshine. Time to get on the road."

Ian made a halfhearted attempt to smack Aaron's hands away and rolled over on his side. "Go 'way," he said. "I'm gonna camp on Brendan's couch."

"You wanna put your truck in my garage?" Brendan asked. "Did you park me in?"

"Yes. No." Ian opened his eyes. "Uh, yes I would and no, I didn't. Let me get my gear out first."

"Hang on," he said, and leaned closer without knowing why. Ian froze in his half-lying down position, looking surprised and then slightly cross-eyed as Brendan poked at his cheek.

"What is it?"

"You've got-- on your cheek-- here. Eyelash." He held it up on one fingertip, and it was blond on the tip. The skin of Ian's cheek just under his eye was very soft, and slightly dark from lack of sleep.

"Oh." Ian shrugged. "Make a wish."

"It's _your_ eyelash," Brendan said, feeling stupid as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "Never mind."

"I've never understood that," Aaron said, looking on with mild interest. "I mean, it's an eyelash. It's a _hair_. Where'd the wish part come from?"

"Who came up with wishing on stars?" Ian said. "They're just, like. Rocks. Burning balls of gas." He stood up and blew the eyelash off Brendan's finger. "There. I'm gonna get my stuff out of the truck. Is your car unlocked?"

"Just pop the trunk. I'm gonna lock up in here. Someone grab the cooler on the way out, okay?"

Brendan waited until they were gone before exhaling. He looked at his finger.

_That_ was weird. A flutter in his stomach over random things wasn't unusual-- after all, he had gotten used to hanging out with incredibly fit women in swimsuits for a couple hours a day, so less traditional things turning him on wasn't a surprise. But Ian was a friend-- a guy friend-- a best guy friend-- and the feeling of Ian's cheek, the warmth of his breath, the way his ass had looked when he bent to pick up the cooler was doing about the same thing for him as a nice lingering flip through Playboy.

"Freeeeeedom!" Aaron yelled from outside, and then there was a thump and some ominous silence.

Brendan decided that there was no use in working himself into a mild homosexual panic this early in the day, and went outside to help Ian get Aaron into the car before any neighbors came and killed them.

***

They stopped for gas only ten minutes into the drive.

"Special requests?" Ian asked before going into the store. He had been sitting behind Brendan's seat; Brendan had seen him staring out the window every time he checked his mirror to change lanes.

"Usual stuff," he replied. "Aaron got the beer and the barbecue stuff already." A thought struck him. "See if you can find marshmallows."

There weren't many people at the gas station. It already felt like summer, heat creeping into the day at only ten in the morning. The air smelled like gasoline and exhaust, but the news had said possible showers later in the day. Brendan still wasn't used to the way that Texas thunderstorms didn't seem to cool the air, just to breathe a suffocating wetness into it. He could feel the humidity pressing close around him.

"Anything in particular?" Aaron asked. It was more of a courtesy question than an actual query; he was already flipping through the CD wallet, humming a little.

Brendan shrugged and watched the numbers click. It was sort of hypnotic. "Whatever, man."

Aaron picked the music. Aaron _always_ picked the music because despite all the bitching they did about who drove and who packed the frisbee and who had to make the run into the gas station for drinks and snacks, they always ended up falling into the same roles out of default. Brendan drove because Aaron had a lead foot and Ian tended to fall asleep in moving cars. Aaron picked the music because Ian would overplay Bob Dylan, and Brendan didn't want to be bothered with changing radio stations while he drove. And Ian always did the food run because Brendan could never keep the list of who wanted what straight in his head without writing it down, and Aaron was indecisive and just couldn't be trusted not to go into the store and buy things for a joke. The last time they'd gone camping and Aaron had gotten to pick snacks, they'd ended up with a bizarre array of jerky from at least four different kinds of animal.

There were other factors to it, Brendan figured. Like, the fact that he was good at not getting lost, and Aaron made the best mix CDs, and Ian remembered what people liked and never forgot it. But it was good to have a routine, better yet that it was a voluntary routine that any of them could change if they really wanted to. Best of all, they didn't want to.

From where he was standing, he could just see Ian through the front glass window, moving away down an aisle. It looked like he was heading towards the drink coolers. As usual, he hadn't bothered to take a basket or anything, and looked only five seconds away from dropping everything in his arms.

The gas pump beeped and clicked off. Brendan automatically jiggled the handle to get the last few drops, stuck the nozzle back in place, rescrewed the cap, and jogged inside the station. He paid in cash-- Christ, prices were high-- made a mental note to reorganize his wallet, and was just in time to help Ian make it to the counter without dropping anything. He waited for Ian to pay with a credit card, waited for the clerk to recognize Ian, waited for Ian to sign an autograph, signed an autograph himself, and tried to enjoy the last contact with indoor air conditioning he'd have for a while.

Back in the car, Aaron had his hat over his face, his feet up on the dashboard, and his thumb stuck through a CD. He slipped it into the player as soon as Brendan started up the car, and Queen started playing.

Aaron's mixes were weird-ass things, where the Rolling Stones were followed by Green Day, followed by the Beach Boys, followed by Counting Crows. Classical music was back to back with heavy metal, techno and country and jazz were all crowded together with no rhyme or reason to the order. Ian had once referred to it as the aural equivalent of being beaten in the head with a sock full of quarters, but somehow it worked.

"Turn it up, turn it up," Aaron urged, and cranked the volume dial himself without waiting for Brendan.

Ian climbed into the back seat with the bags, just in time to chime in with Aaron on the Bohemian Rhapsody. Brendan revved the engine as Aaron began to play air guitar, throwing both of them back in their seats. It didn't stop either of them and he had to laugh for the sheer hell of it, for anticipation of the trip, for a full tank of gas, for good music, and being with friends.

He realized that he was wildly, inexpressibly happy.

Brendan was laughing maniacally when they pulled out, laughing when he floored the gas, and was still laughing by the time Aaron and Ian reached their glorious vibrato finale complete with head-banging, and launched into an encore of the Turtles' "So Happy Together."

***

They sang loudly and intermittently all the way there, stopping only once to pick up subs to eat. Ian was the only one who could really carry a tune, but that didn't stop Aaron from belting out the lyrics to U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" or even Brendan joining in on "Magical Mystery Tour." Normally there was a rule about singing in the car, but it was broken so often that none of them took it seriously anymore.

At the campsite they rented a canoe, signed another round of autographs for the clerk, and started unloading all their gear. Then they gave up on unloading their gear, and sat down on the ground to eat their subs. Aaron tried to feed his pickle slices to an unimpressed squirrel. Brendan ate the gummi worms Ian had bought (as well as Swedish fish and goldfish crackers, because Ian occasionally had a weirder sense of humor than even Aaron did) and drew patterns in the dust with the toe of his sneaker.

Once everything had been eaten, and all the trash had been wadded up and stuffed in a garbage bag for later disposal, they had the traditional tent race. Brendan won handily, having had the most practice. He looked over at his friends and shook his head. "Y'all are hopeless."

"You suck, man," Ian said, looking over at the finished tent, and then at his own. It was still a mess of poles and fabric. "This is supposed to be, like, a five-step tent. I think I'm on step sixty-two or something. I have all these extra poles."

"You think that's bad?" Aaron was standing in the middle of his tent-attempt. His, at least, was partially standing. "All I can find is the Spanish instructions. I'm doing this by picture."

Brendan came over to take a look. "Your diagram is upside down," he noted helpfully.

"Shut up," Aaron said, and reversed it. He squinted. "This doesn't make any more sense."

"You need to swap those two poles."

Ian was tying knots with great concentration, his brow furrowed and his tongue slightly sticking out of one corner of his mouth. Brendan finally felt bad-- well, he felt like he _should_ have felt bad-- and went over to help. Between the two of them, the tent finally went up without looking like it was going to collapse any second.

Ian patted his tent affectionately. "That's my girl."

"Please don't tell me you named your tent," Brendan said.

"Not really," Ian said. "Just cars."

"They're still both things you get inside," Aaron said. "And you went with female names, so that probably means something."

"I think this is all getting unnecessarily Freudian," Brendan said. "Jesus, Aaron, how'd you make that worse in the five minutes I had my back turned?"

"Dude, shut up, I've almost got it."

"Can swim the two hundred meter backstroke in under two minutes but can't put up a simple tent," Ian observed, somewhat hypocritically.

Aaron smiled pleasantly, and then lunged forward and tried to body-check the both of them. However, he stepped right in the middle of a coil of rope and ended up getting yanked back to the ground. Ian jumped out of the way just in time, the fucking traitor, but Brendan tripped on what felt like a pinecone and went down ass over elbows. Right before he hit the ground, he made a note to hide some pinecones under Ian's sleeping bag. He rolled over to see Aaron's tent collapse on top of him, leaving only Aaron's struggling feet sticking out. Ian laughed so hard he hurt his jaw.

Over the course of the drive and lunch, Brendan had managed to convince himself that the flutter in his stomach that morning had been an aberration. He had been hungry, he hadn't gotten enough sleep, he had been high on some kind of hormone from training, or _something_. Nothing had happened on the road or while they were eating. He had probably just been excited about the trip.

Now, flat on his back on the pine needle-covered ground and staring up at Ian, he had a sudden and dismal conviction that he was sexually attracted to one of his best friends, that he was apparently less straight than he thought, and that he really, really wanted to lick the hollow of Ian's throat.

Ian smiled at him and offered him a hand up.

Brendan closed his eyes, said a very quiet profanity to himself, and took it.

***

The fish weren't biting much, but the mosquitoes were. After he started scratching at the first welt on his arm, Brendan started digging for the Cutters. They slathered it liberally up and down their arms and legs, wincing at the sharp chemical smell. Brendan just hoped that the combination of the Cutters and chlorine wouldn't combine into something toxic on his skin.

"When was the last time you and Neil went out to the lake for this?" Ian asked. He was in the middle of the canoe. Aaron was in the stern and Brendan was in the bow.

Brendan thought it over. "A while ago. Probably not since early spring." Something was nibbling on his line, but it felt small. Bluegill, maybe.

They sat in silence for a while. It was easy to relax with no one around, to be around water without the first priority being to cross it. Above them, the sky was overcast and beginning to pile up with clouds in the west. Brendan had forgotten to check the weather forecast in the car to hear anything more about the rain on the way. He hoped it would hold off until later.

"Baby fish," Aaron said later as he tried to work the hook out of the lip of a fish that was only half the length of his palm. "Little tiny baby fish. We're horrible people. We're probably making a lot of fish parents very sad."

"Maybe we're using the wrong kind of bait," Ian suggested. "Maybe fish don't want worms. I wouldn't eat a worm. Maybe the babies just don't know any better."

"So we're catching the stupidest fish," Aaron said. "That's evolution. Survival of the fittest."

They both looked at Brendan as though waiting for contradiction from the authority on the subject. Brendan shrugged. He felt way too relaxed to do anything as strenuous as argue. He wondered if he should warn Ian that the back of his neck was getting pretty pink.

"And not even my lucky hat is helping," Aaron added.

Even later, they had all removed their shirts and Aaron and Brendan had very gingerly managed to use their life jackets as backrests to relax against at either end of the canoe. Ian was the only one still trying to catch a fish; Brendan didn't think he even had bait on his hook at the moment and Aaron's fishing pole was lying in the bottom of the canoe.

"Alligators," Ian said out of the blue.

"Huh?" Aaron said.

"Alligators," Ian repeated. "I bet alligators ate all the fish. That's why we're not catching anything."

It took Brendan a moment to catch up. "Are we south enough for alligators?" He thought hard. "East. South-east?"

Ian nodded. He had a great poker face, and it was hard to tell when he was kidding.

"I wouldn't mind being an alligator," Aaron murmured. "Just hanging out on the bottom of lakes and kicking ass now and then. Hey. Lake Placid."

"Was that an alligator?" Ian asked. "I thought it was a crocodile."

"Totally an alligator." Aaron waved his hands around vaguely. "There's been. Like. A couple. There's one just called 'Alligator'. Except those were supposed to be radioactive mutated gators from the sewer. Actually, I think they made two of them. The second one was really bad, it was this fake alligator snout being pushed on a surfboard or a skate board in all the shots. The scenes where you see the whole thing, it's actually a real gator in sized-down sets."

"Not worth seeing?" Brendan asked. "Hey, I remember, there was this one about alligator people. I think that was what it was called too. Alligator People. Man, you know it's bad when the title is all obvious like that."

"That doesn't stand up all the time," Ian disagreed. "There's like, the Alien series. That's classic. And Jaws."

"Yeah, but not all the Jaws movies are _good_ movies. The fourth one was terrible. It's even worse when they don't even use a number anymore, they just take the original title, add a colon and then some word like revenge or revisit or reckoning."

"Okay, point. But the first two were good, and even the third one had its moments."

"Oh, come on. They should have left it alone after the first."

"Who made you the authority on naming movies?"

"I'm in a boat with a friend who blames his lack of fishing luck on alligators, and another friend who wouldn't mind _being_ an alligator. I think I'm the only one here with the right to say _anything_."

"I think the radioactive alligator was named Raul," Aaron said, still musing. "No, that's not right. Ramon. Ramon the alligator."

"The alligator named himself Ramon?"

The canoe rocked a little bit as Aaron shifted and Brendan automatically mirrored him to keep the canoe level. The breeze had picked up a little, and it felt good on his skin. The water rippled away and stilled.

Ian reeled in his line, examined the empty hook and sighed. "Damn alligators."

***

Fortunately, they hadn't depended on fish for their barbecue, and the hotdogs and hamburgers were still in the cooler. One year, they had left their food alone without properly locking the cooler and had come back to find the site crawling with raccoons. It had been sort of funny in a way, although less so when they had to eat leftover PBJ sandwiches for dinner, and Brendan had thought a lot of dark thoughts about coonskin hats.

Brendan made the fire while Ian slapped the burgers into tinfoil packets. Aaron came back with an armload of firewood, and then cooked a hotdog apiece for everyone to eat until the burgers were done. They all sat around and passed the bag of chips back and forth while staring at the flames.

"They always taste different when they're cooked outside," Ian said, as he poked one of the logs with a stick. It collapsed in a shower of sparks. "Better. But different from even the grill, you know?"

"Yeah," Brendan agreed absently. The smoke was blowing out towards the lake.

Ian's neck had gotten kind of sunburned since Brendan hadn't said anything after all. When they were passing around the water bottles earlier, he had leaned forward and placed his on the back of Ian's neck for a minute. Ian had closed his eyes, smiled, and then leaned back trustingly into Brendan's touch. Brendan had been so glad he hadn't told Ian after all, that he was pretty sure he had passed right over the line of Irresponsible Friend and was frolicking deep in the fields of Actively Evil People.

Aaron was leaning back on his elbows, one leg crossed over the other. He tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. "You should've brought your guitar, Ian."

"We're not doing lewd campfire songs again this time." Ian was smiling, despite his tone. "Seriously, get help."

They had already gone through half a case of bottled water-- fishing made you thirsty, Brendan had found. He wasn't sure it was all the sweating or the doing nothing or what. Then again, training made them thirsty too. Maybe it was just being around water and not being able to drink it. Sympathetic thirst cravings, or something.

Ian finished off his bottle and glanced over at Aaron. Aaron nodded back. They both got up and went towards the car, and Brendan wondered if he was about to be ganged up on and tossed in the lake. Instead, Ian came back with a bottle of Coke, and Aaron came back with a bottle of Jack Daniels and some plastic cups, brandishing both happily.

"Oh Jesus," Brendan said, and started to laugh. "You remembered. Hey. Don't we already have beer?"

"Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, shut up and drink to another successful roadtrip," Aaron said, and sat down.

Ian poured Coke into each cup, Aaron topped it off with alcohol, and they all raised their cups and drank. The Coke was warm and the ice was melting too quickly and Brendan got bubbles up his nose when Ian smiled at him, and thought he'd never been more content, ever.

As soon as the coals died down properly, Ian whipped out the bag of marshmallows with the air of a jeweler revealing his prize diamond. They all scrambled off to find the perfect branch.

Aaron and Ian were both oddly fussy about the way they toasted marshmallows. Brendan liked to let his catch on fire and get charred a bit before he blew them out-- it got the job done quickly and he didn't mind eating the ashy bits as well. Ian liked to slowly toast his on all sides, until it was golden brown and swollen to where it was practically falling off that stick. Aaron toasted his the same way, but he would pull the toasted outside skin off, eat it, and then toast the layer below that until it was too small. Brendan analyzed all three methods in his mind over five marshmallows and then decided he didn't give a fuck, and started thinking about putting a melted marshmallow in Aaron's hair while he was asleep.

He didn't let himself think about whether Ian's mouth would be sticky-sweet, or what it would be like to lick his fingers.

Ian looked over at him. "You want one without the char-broil, Brendan?" He pulled it off his own stick and held it out to Brendan.

Brendan flushed, muttered thanks, and shoved it in his mouth. He was glad that he was sitting close enough to the fire to blame his red face on the heat. Really, he didn't care so much about being attracted to a guy, it was just the fact he was acting like a total _girl_ about it, and that was sort of unnerving.

***

"Ian, man," Brendan said. He was pretty sure he had intended something to follow that, but nothing was coming. "Ian," he repeated. Oh. Oh yeah. Now he remembered. "Dude, we swim enough already. Let's go back."

"Fish," Ian repeated stubbornly. "I'm going to catch one of them. Not swim."

Aaron was already in his own tent. Brendan was leaning on Ian, half-dragging and half-draping himself on Ian's shoulder so he could inhale sweat, citronella, a ghost of cologne, and even fainter hints of chlorine. They had stayed up late enough to get mildly buzzed and Brendan was pretty sure Ian wasn't as drunk as he was pretending to be. It was just nice to be silly.

"The fish are gone," Brendan said. "Alligators, those fuckers. C'mon, let's go back to the tents." Back to _my_ tent, he wanted to say, but didn't. He might be able to get Ian back there anyway, if Ian kept up the tipsy routine. They had all crashed on each other's couches enough for it to be second nature by now.

"We're just using the wrong bait. I know it," Ian said plaintively. "Lemme just give it a shot. Let's try something good. Like. Hotdogs. We can try one of those. Or, hey, I know. Let's try the gummi worms."

The idea of fishing with gummi worms simultaneously intrigued and horrified the fisherman part of Brendan's brain. What the hell, he figured, at the worst he and Ian could sit on the sand and eat gummi worms. He didn't think either of them was fit to be in the canoe right now. The only problem was--

"I think we left those in Aaron's tent," he said.

They made their way back to the tents, tiptoeing exaggeratedly and shushing each other every few seconds. It only took a few seconds of fumbling with Aaron's tent flap zipper before they crept inside, hunched over, and trying not to step on any lumps that looked particularly Aaron-shaped. Unfortunately, none of the lumps looked particularly gummi worm package-shaped either.

Brendan fussed around a fold of tent that he was sure he had heard a crinkle of cellophane from. When he looked up, Aaron was leaning on one elbow, half-raised out of his sleeping bag.

"Um," Brendan said, and then decided he'd let Ian field this one.

Aaron watched for a minute with detached interest, rubbing his eyes as though to be sure of what he was seeing; then he sat up completely and spoke in a conversational tone. "I will be a sonuvabitch if they aren't in my tent at one in the morning, fucking around in the dark with a fishing pole and a package of hotdogs."

Brendan nudged Aaron's sleeping bag with his toe. "Go back to sleep."

"Funny, but nearly naked people stomping around in my tent while I'm asleep don't make for great sleeping conditions," Aaron said, and squinted. "_Are_ you naked? The answer better not be yes."

Ian stopped rummaging in the corner. "Found 'em. Who ate all the red ones?"

"Not me, I like the green ones," Brendan said. "Hey, bring the Swedish fish, too."

In the end, they all went out to the lake, pushing and shoving, stripping down to boxers since they couldn't be bothered to find their suits, and all of them tripping over hidden rocks and branches every five feet. Shit, Brendan thought, how drunk were they? Not too much. Should they even be near water, let alone swimming?

"Alligators," Ian reminded them as they stood on the shoreline. "Or bears. Maybe bears ate the fish."

"I think it should be illegal to have to be worried about both bears and alligators at the same time," Brendan said. "I mean, one or the other, okay. But both of them in the same place, that's. That's just not right."

"You gonna complain to the DNR?" Aaron asked. "Hey. Actually, that might make a good horror movie. Bear-Alligator. Alligator-Bear. Like, a mutated combo of the two. The legendary Alligator-Bear, a bear with the head of an alligator, and.... the _body_ of an alligator."

"No, it should be like a team. The bear stalks you on land, the alligator nails your ass in the water." Ian swayed a little bit. "Hey. I forgot the fishing pole."

"And the hotdogs," Brendan added. The stars were bright, even through the clouds overhead. He wondered if they twinkled like that normally or if it were just the remnants of the alcohol in his system.

The water was blood-warm against their feet, but the breeze was getting steadily stronger and the air was cooling down. The rain was coming soon. They splashed into the water and it was a foregone conclusion that they were all going to lose the boxers eventually. It only took fifteen minutes. Brendan noticed though, that none of them went into the water above their knees.

"I'm really happy right now," Ian said suddenly. "I just wanted you guys to know that. Even if it sounds sappy and like a load of crap. I'm really happy to be here. And I'm going to dunk my head before I say anything else stupid."

"It's--" Brendan knew, just _knew_, this was one of those moments that you didn't get twice. And he had nothing ready to say at all. "Yeah. I'm-- happy. I'm happy too. Thanks."

"We're cool," Aaron said simply. And then, because Aaron was good at things like that, he grabbed both Ian's and Brendan's hands and squeezed hard. And then he yanked them both forward and they all went down in a splash that scared away any remaining fish in the lake at all. The significant moment was drowned under a tidal wave of lake-water.

"Oh, you fucker," Brendan sputtered as he came back up. "Don't think I won't drown you and hide the body." He charged.

In the middle of the epic water fight, Ian froze. "You hear that?"

"Cut it out, man. That's not funny." Brendan found himself scanning the lake and forest regardless.

"I _heard_ something," Ian insisted. "Over there. What's that shape? Was that here when we got here?"

"I heard something moving too." Aaron crouched down in the water. As if in answer, they all heard it-- some kind of furtive rustling on the shoreline to their left. "I see it. Over there."

There was a dark mass of shadow among the trees. Brendan honestly couldn't remember if it had been there before. He moved a little closer to the other two. "It's shaped kind of weird."

"It is shaped," Aaron hissed, "like a bear."

Brendan stared at the patch of shadow hard enough for his eyes to hurt. "It hasn't moved. I don't think. Should we throw something at it?"

Ian waded forward cautiously. "I think... I think it's a bush."

"We're all pansies," Aaron said dismally. "It's probably just a deer."

Brendan was just beginning to exhale when there was a much larger crash and rustle from about twenty yards to their left. He found he had quite a lot of breath left in him after all, as they all sprinted through the water and back to the campsite.

***

They all piled into one tent, Brendan's this time, because it seemed the least likely to fall down and no one wanted to be alone if there was a bear or even just a bear-shaped thing in the area. Although really, as Aaron pointed out, it was kind of a stupid plan because if there _was_ a bear, they ought to split up and give at least two of them a fighting chance, instead of everybody getting killed at once.

"And then Phelps's gonna have to swim everything in the medley relay all by himself," Aaron said. "No one wants that."

Aaron and Ian had brought their sleeping bags (and new pairs of boxers) over, and they made a sort of lopsided triangle as everyone tried to lie down in such a way as no one had anyone's feet in their face. It was nice, in a way. Companionable, even. But even the roomiest two-man tent wasn't comfortable when filled with three people, all of who were at least six feet tall.

"Ow. Quit it."

"Move _over_," someone insisted somewhere to Brendan's left, and shoved.

"No room at the inn," someone muttered back-- Brendan was pretty sure it was Ian-- and shoved back. It pushed Aaron against the back of Brendan's shoulders just when he was beginning to get comfortable, and he kicked out in irritation. Judging from the sound he heard when he made contact, he had gotten Ian. Whoops.

"Ow! Quit it!"

"Oh for--" There was a sound of nylon swishing, and Brendan moved ninety degrees. "Better?"

"_No_," Ian said. "That's my knee."

"There's a rock or something under my back," Aaron announced, "and I think someone's wet socks are over here. I'm sticking them outside."

"Ow! _Quit it_!"

"Then don't lie down _right in the way_."

There was a series of thumps coming from across the tent and a few measured breaths, as though someone was carefully picking his way across a tent of people in the dark. There was a more metallic thump, a grunt, and a swallowed obscenity, as though someone had not so carefully walked right into a tent pole.

Miraculously, Aaron managed to make it to the tent flap and almost across the tent again before tripping over Ian. Ian _yelped_\-- there was no other word for it-- and the both of them landed on Brendan, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to claw his way out from the bottom of the pile of arms and legs, yelling as well, and there was a moment of very confused struggling in which everyone got hit in the junk at least once. Afterwards, they all flopped onto their sleeping bags and breathed very hard for a few moments.

"One of you fuckers bit me," Aaron said mournfully. "I think it drew blood."

"Serves you right," Brendan said. "Ian, man, you okay?"

"My nose hurts."

More nylon swished, as they all rearranged themselves. It was even silent for a few minutes, until the tent shook again and Aaron growled, "I swear to _God_, Ian…"

"Hey, it's not my fault if Brendan's legs are taking up all the space."

"I am the _shortest_ fucking person here," Brendan said defensively. "So how can _my_ legs be taking up _all the space_? Okay, stop. No more fighting. There's only one way this is going to work. We're gonna-- _Ow_! That _hurt_, goddamn it."

"Sorry," Ian said, but Brendan didn't think he sounded sorry at all. He wished he had followed up on the pinecones.

"As I was _saying_," Brendan said. "This isn't going to work unless we all rearrange. Everyone turn left towards the tent flap."

There was a flurry of movement while they settled themselves.

"Your other left, dipshit."

The sleeping bags stilled.

It was still crowded, but at least somewhat bearable now. The rain was finally starting in earnest, soft drops that pattered down the top and sides of the tent. Brendan breathed a silent prayer of thanks for having thrown the tarp over the cooler, and gave Ian's shoulder a companionable nudge.

Ian nudged back, and then laughed. "Didn't think I'd be at a slumber party when I was this old," he said. "Hey, is my nose bleeding?"

Ian leaned in close. It took Brendan about thirty seconds before he realized he was supposed to do something other than stare at Ian's mouth, which looked slightly bruised and swollen. It was strangely appealing, reddened, as though he'd been kissing someone hard enough to produce that sort of flushed look. Although probably, Brendan thought, it was more likely that he or Aaron had accidentally clocked Ian one, and Ian was harboring elaborate plans of revenge. Reality was a stone cold bitch.

It didn't stop him from popping one of the most sudden and crippling hard-ons that he'd had since he was fourteen.

And, like, _whoa_, Ian's mouth was really close to his face.

"It's, uh, fine," he finally said, remembering to squint and look concerned at the same time, while inwardly blessing the bulky layer of sleeping bag that concealed his boner. "I don't see any blood." He cleared his throat. "Slumber party?"

"Well, what do you think this is, anyway?" Aaron asked. "We got the sleeping bags, we got the jammies, we got the snacks. All we gotta do is start talking about who we like and doing each other's hair."

"Stow it, Peirsol. I'm gonna shave you bald when you're asleep one of these nights. Just you wait." He snorted. "_Jammies_."

"That wouldn't be such a bad prank," Ian said thoughtfully. "The shaving, I mean. You'd have to pick the right person, though."

"Someone who really liked their hair?" Brendan asked. His erection really wasn't going away. He tried to nonchalantly fold his hands over it.

"Well, that and a heavy sleeper." Ian shrugged. "It would give you something new to talk up in interviews, y' know?"

"Yeah, man, you gotta stop telling the Ben-Gay in the swimsuit story," Aaron said. "You need something new. That wasn't even the best one."

"It's one of the only ones I can tell in public," Brendan said. "And I only get to tell part of the story with that one. Besides, I mean, I think we're all still not allowed to talk about the thing with the jello shooters and the microwave. And the pineapple."

"Oh, dude, the pineapple," Aaron said, reminiscently. "Those burns took forever to heal."

Ian made a face. "Yeah, that's a lifetime ban." He suddenly grinned. "Nah, I still think the best thing was when you waited until Aaron fell asleep on the lounge chair and you wrote that stuff on him in sunscreen."

"I am _not_ a monkeytool," Aaron growled.

"Hey, yeah!" Brendan said with delight. "Barcelona! And he had to cover it with that self-tanner!"

They all paused a moment to appreciate the memory, and in Aaron's case, to quietly seethe and grumble under his breath.

Brendan broke the silence before Ian's mouth could distract him again. "So, if we're at a slumber party, I think we should be drunker."

Ian wrinkled his forehead. "Didn't we put the beer back in the cooler?"

***

There was another small scuffle, because Brendan claimed he didn't have to go out in the rain since it was his tent (and he had a vested interest in not standing up yet) and they lost the quarter they needed for the tie-breaking flip between Ian and Aaron somewhere in the sleeping bags. After five rounds of sudden-death double-elimination rock-paper-scissors, and Brendan and Ian collectively calling Aaron a wuss twenty-three times, Aaron finally dashed out into the rain to get the drinks.

His erection was finally wilting. In the meantime, Brendan thought very hard about gutting fish, and tried to ignore the way Ian's shirt was all rucked up over his stomach.

"You both suck," Aaron said, tumbling back inside. "I'm gonna be out of underwear." He shook his head like a dog and water scattered everywhere; the 'fro was already recovering from the downpour. Nothing kept it down for long. The cardboard of the two six-pack containers was wet and ripping at the edges; bottles clinked out of his arms and rolled across the sleeping bags.

Ian was already picking them up and lining them up neatly. "Hope you remembered the bottle opener, man."

"Shitfuck," Aaron groaned, and went out into the rain again.

Brendan hitched his sleeping bag a little closer to Ian under pretense of adjusting the lantern.

Aaron came back and peeled out his shirt, dropping the bottle opener next to Ian. "Okay, no more trips outside. It's pouring." He flopped on his sleeping bag. "Where were we?"

None of them was quite sure how VH1's 100 Most Wanted Bodies came up. The beer probably had something to do with it. Ian wanted to know if they had been asked to say certain things about certain celebrities, and if they had met any of them, and somehow one thing led to another.

"You're just," Brendan said, waving his bottle around, "you're just sitting there saying stuff, sort of what you come up with off the top of your head, and they kept some of it and tossed other bits. Sometimes they asked us to say specific things. But mostly all you're doing is sitting there, thinking about what you'd want to _do_."

"Dude, yes," Aaron said. "Like, say, Heidi Klumm. I mean, _damn_. I'd ask her if she'd let me lick her all over. Whipped cream, maybe."

That started it off. None of them could remember the entire list, so they mainly stuck with the handful of people Aaron and Brendan had been asked to comment on.

"Molly Simms, man," Brendan said. "With those little bathing suits. And those abs. Might as well make it near water, you know?"

Ian blinked. "Isn't it kinda tough to have sex in a pool?"

"No comment," Brendan said. "Anyway, like. Maybe in the showers, you know? That's easier. She'd make the first move, like, just walking out of the steam. With her hair all slicked back and taking off her top as she was walking. And she'd just come on in and give me this… this look. Little beads of water on her skin. And we wouldn't even say anything, I'd just hook my thumbs into her bikini bottom and _pull_, and she'd go down on her knees and… yeah."

Turn into Ian Crocker, his mind supplied. Brendan suppressed it ruthlessly.

They went over Demi Moore doing yoga in an overly air-conditioned gym, and Keira Knightly in the back of a car at a drive in, and Halle Berry in her leather X-Men suit. Aaron wouldn't let either of them talk about Amanda because he said it felt like incest. Instead, he egged Ian into talking about what he'd do with Faith Hill, given the opportunity.

"You're perverted," Ian said, and blushed a little, ducking his head. "But, say. I'd want it to be nice, you know? Like, some kind of outdoors date, the way she's always hanging out in her videos. We could take a picnic or something, just eat and talk about music and all. Maybe jam a little on the guitar. Sing a little."

"And afterwards?" Brendan asked. He couldn't blame Ian, really. Faith Hill was just naturally hot. It was hard to compete. He stared moodily into his bottle.

Ian grinned. "I'd bring a blanket, suggest we watch the stars, maybe. Lie back and put my arm around her. See if I could get her to you, know, cuddle up to me. I guess I'd have to hope for a night that was cool enough to make it happen but warm enough to-- you know."

Aaron whooped and spilled more beer on Brendan.

Brendan licked it off his arm. "We did get to see the clip of Misty May and Kerri Walsh rolling around, like, five times though," he said. "That was good."

"Athletes," Aaron said with satisfaction, rolling the word around on his tongue. "Dude, we rock."

"Have you ever done anyone on the team?" Ian asked idly. "Would you?"

Brendan finished his bottle and reach for another one. He poked Aaron. "Yeah, your turn. How about--" Inspiration struck him. "_Michael_. Since we're talking about people on the team."

Ian laughed. "Oh God, don't say anything. I won't be able to look him in the face at the next shoot."

"Michael?" Aaron said thoughtfully. "Hmm. That's interesting. Maybe get him before a race, you know? In the locker room. Teasing him, so he'd be just a little off balance. I'd touch his hip or something like, light and quick, so he wouldn't know if I was being serious or not. And then I'd wait for afterwards, to see how well he did. I'd corner him and tell him I was going to fuck him by the end of the meet, but I'd phrase it like he wouldn't know if I was talking about the pool or not."

"TMI," Brendan said, but not loudly enough to stop Aaron. Aaron flipped him off without looking and kept talking.

"So, I guess it would depend on if we were sharing a room or not. I'd do it in his bed, get him to start squirming. Get him out of his clothes, but keep some of mine on so he could feel the difference. Then I'd calm him down a little, and put him on the edge later. I'd keep it so he just wouldn't know what was coming."

"Would you give him a blowjob?" Ian asked, with what looked like horrified fascination on his face.

Aaron thought it over. "Maybe. If I could hold his hands down. Tie 'em down or something. He's the kind who would pull hair, I bet. Hey, that's a good idea. I bet that would rattle him even more. I'd tie his hands down-- together, like, over his head-- and just talk dirty to him, see if he could take it without getting all flustered. About how I was going to bite his birthmark or his tattoo or something. He'd be all worried about if I was going to leave marks where his suit didn't cover up, so I'd be trying to get him to ask me nicely, you know?"

He had a distant little smile in the corner of his mouth. Those words were coming out awfully easy, Brendan thought.

"And then I guess I'd roll him over and fuck him," Aaron said dismissively. "On his stomach, the first time. Face down. I'd watch his face later, when he figured out that begging wasn't going to get him what he wanted right away."

There was silence in the tent. Ian cleared his throat. "I think. I think we should be drinking water with the beer. I'll get some."

He scrambled over Brendan and went out into the rain. Brendan noticed two perfectly good bottles of water next to some of the empties.

"I think you traumatized Ian," Brendan finally said. "Wait. _Wait_. I've seen Michael in his speedos and I don't remember seeing any birthmark. How the hell did you?"

"I think I traumatized _you_, man," Aaron said, and grinned. "And that's a secret. So, what about Lance Armstrong? You were all admiring him in your comments. Sympathy blowjob for the testicular cancer survivor?"

"Lance Armstrong is missing a nut," Brendan said, trying to get back on firmer ground and not think about the fact Aaron seemed to have a lot of thought put into that fantasy. "I think that would be kind of weird."

Ian came back inside and frowned. Brendan braced for an explosion, but Ian just looked slightly puzzled. "Do you know if it's the right or the left one?"

"Well, you can't get both in your mouth at the same time, so it doesn't make a difference, right?" Aaron said.

Ian and Brendan banded together to push Aaron out into the rain again.

***

In the morning, Brendan woke up first and had to piss like a motherfucker. He extracted himself from the slightly damp and overheated pile of teammates, and ambled down towards the lake. There were porta-johns a little ways away, and a tree that he knew Aaron had been using, but he stood all the way on the shore and pissed into the water, watching the ripples move away from the arc of his aim.

He stayed that way for a while, cock in hand and staring out over the water. There was fog over the lake, but he thought that it would burn away when the sun came out fully. The rain had stopped sometime before morning, and everything was damp and clean and cool. Brendan felt just as cool and blank as the rest of the world, wrapped in the privacy of the mist and the utter quiet of the morning.

An image of Ian rose unbidden to his mind, the way he had looked when Brendan stepped over him to get to the tent flap. Asleep, with his mouth open just a little, and those long fucking lashes down against his cheeks.

Brendan didn't think about it. He just let himself look at the water while he spat in his hand three times and switched hands on his cock. He wanted to use his left hand because that felt unfamiliar, unsure, and if he didn't look down and he concentrated hard enough, he could almost let himself believe it was Ian's hand on his cock.

Ian would probably be slow and a little off rhythm though, hesitant because he hadn't done it before, and Brendan was going fast and hard and tight because he didn't know how much longer he would be alone out here. He was almost positive that he was violating some kind etiquette code or set of rules, something about not jerking off to your friend and teammate while he was less than fifty feet away. He could see a scrap of red color that was the tent through the trees, and knowing that Ian was _there_ just made him harder.

So close, so fucking close that he didn't even have to imagine Ian _doing_ anything. All it took was just think about Ian's smile, his half-lidded sleepy eyes, and the feel of Ian's shoulder under Brendan's hand. And he stroked blindly down the middle of his chest with his right hand, thumbed his left nipple, cupped his balls, and _ohfuck_, Brendan was coming hard and stickily into his hand and, really, the messy reality of the inevitable outcome honestly hadn't occurred to him.

Damn good thing the lake was right there, really.

He washed his hands off in the shallows. All of a sudden, Brendan felt shaky, a little ashamed, and more than a little dissatisfied. It wasn't the same as flipping through a stored up mental bank of tits and thighs and asses, the anonymous scraps of magazine spreads and memory shreds. It was almost like stealing and he felt badly about it, but he wanted not to pretend.

He wanted Ian.

God.

He tried the words out. "Ian. I." He wasn't sure what he should say after that, if he could say anything after that.

Something rustled. Did he hear something? A reply?

He figured when the goddamn squirrels began to talk back or the imaginary bears came out, it was probably time to go eat breakfast and finish waking up.

Back at camp, Brendan heard stirring from within the tent. He had started the fire again, and was scrambling eggs in a skillet when Aaron crawled out in a mess. He spared a quick look for Brendan's eggs, gave a grunt of approval, and then sprinted off towards the lake, probably with the same intention Brendan had had.

Ian surfaced soon thereafter, in slightly better shape. He went towards a tree further away, and came back to hover over Brendan's shoulder at the eggs. Aaron eventually returned and dropped a sodden mass of cloth on top of the hood of Brendan's car, which turned out to be their forgotten boxers.

"Violated by alligators," Aaron said, shaking his head. Ian grinned, and made pleased noises over the eggs.

"I think," Ian announced after breakfast, "that we should just do nothing today."

Brendan raised a plastic bottle of orange juice in agreement. "Hear, hear."

Aaron lolled across a fallen log. They had taken the tents down right away because they were headed home in a few hours and the morning sun had mostly burned off the damp. There'd been a few mishaps, and Aaron had suffered additional collateral damage after a comment on Ian's inability to take his tent down without Brendan giving a hand, but overall it went quite well.

"We still have the canoe for two hours," Aaron noted. "Who wants to do some early morning laps?"

***

It ended eventually, of course.

The ride back was quieter because Aaron's new mix CD was more folk and blues. Ian hummed along quietly in the back seat, sometimes singing, sometimes filling in nonsense words where he didn't know the lyrics. There was a brief energetic interlude where they all sang "We Are The Champions" since Aaron said you had to finish a trip with the same music you started with, it was a total rule, and Brendan took his hands off the wheel no less than five times. Three of the times were to try and hit Aaron.

Home was the same as ever, and Brendan didn't know why he had expected it to be monumentally different. Jack was so glad to see him that he jumped all over Brendan's legs and slobbered a patch of drool into the carpet at least five inches across.

Aaron was again off finding something out of the boxes he had left in Brendan's house. Ian was-- well, Brendan wondered if he was being paranoid to think Ian was stalking him.

"So, um." Ian had followed Brendan into his room. "I kinda wanted to say something."

Brendan issued a mental order to his body to behave, promising unlikely rewards and terrible threats. His cock ignored his better nature, though, and damn, didn't he wish he had a dollar for every time that had happened?

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to play it cool. "You know the garage code, right?"

"'Course I do, but I thought I'd say. Um." Ian smiled, suddenly, sweetly, and Brendan had no defense against it at all. "It wasn't really about the fish, you know? I didn't want you to think I was disappointed about that."

"Huh?" Brendan said in the most intelligent tone he could manage.

"I made such a big fuss about the fish because I kind wanted to share in some of the stuff you and Neil do, and to, you know, just spend some quality time with you and Aaron because I know I haven't been around as much lately, what with the clinics and the Swim with the Stars involvement, and I like hanging with you guys." Ian stopped and breathed. "And marketing has just been asses lately, so I wanted to reconnect with you guys. But kind of especially you, since we live only a mile apart."

"Oh," Brendan said, in the second most intelligent tone he could manage.

"But you seemed kind of distracted during the trip at times, and I wondered if anything was wrong," Ian finished.

"Oh. No," Brendan said in a tone that was not intelligent at all. "Uh. No. Well. Maybe."

"Maybe?" Ian prompted. Brendan saw with dawning horror that he was not going to get out of the mess he was walking into.

"Maybe. Sort of." Brendan looked Ian's shoulder instead of his face and that didn't work at all, because he vividly remembered jerking off to the feel of that shoulder. "I've had these, um, relationship troubles on my mind. And I really don't want to bother you with them, so it's cool and don't worry."

"Oh God, really?" Ian said, looking shocked. "I've been such an ass."

Brendan found, to his faint alarm, that he couldn't breathe.

"You were so great when Erin and I broke up. I'm sorry, I should have been there for you earlier instead of trying to impress you with the stupid fish." Ian stepped closer. "Listen, I've been wanting to suggest something, and it's really presumptuous, but do you think maybe sometime I could come on one of your fishing trips, on your boat? We can talk, and maybe I can help you with--"

"Ian, _no_, just, I can't go with you--" He stopped when he saw Ian's stricken face. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean like that. I just meant--" He stopped again, as Ian's face set like plaster, blank and smooth.

"I've had a lot of things on my mind," Brendan offered miserably. "I wasn't going to go out anywhere for a while. I figured I should take care of the… the situation on my own."

"No, no, it's all right," Ian said, way too carefully. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to butt in. I'm. Really sorry. Besides, we've got training and you don't want to mess with your tradition and. Damn. I'm sorry."

Ian levered himself off the bed and offered Brendan a smile that was small, hurt, and yet still genuine, and Brendan felt _something_ in him break, although it was more like his stomach than his heart. His stomach seemed to know things way before his heart anyway. "I should get home," Ian said. "I had a great time this trip, okay? See you at practice."

Brendan sat as still as he could and waited for the slam of the door to the outside, listened as hard as he could. Once he heard it, it would be some sort of final signal. He could start working on never moving again.

He never heard it, but he didn't move either.

***

Aaron gave him an hour before he came outside, which was to Aaron's credit because usually he meddled in Brendan's affairs much earlier. It was late afternoon and the light had gone heavy and hazy around the edges; Brendan was sitting on the front steps reorganizing his tackle-box and squinted into the light. Aaron ambled around the side of the house and up the driveway with the sun at his back; it threw shadows that obscured his face and any expression there.

"Hey," Aaron said.

"Hey," Brendan said.

There was a brief silence.

"Well?" Aaron finally asked, tilting his head back to look at the sky. The light caught his hair, fractured itself among the curls, and turned into a bright corona around his head. It was sort of neat, actually, and Brendan almost wanted to get up and get his camera to take a picture of it.

Instead, he exhaled noisily and leaned back on his hands, shrugging. "What."

Aaron made a deeper sigh and ran one hand through his hair, changing but not lessening the light effect. "Okay, why don't we skip this shit and save us both some trouble? We can just pretend that an hour's gone by and that was really-- I dunno, the seventh time? Maybe a double digit. Let's say that was the tenth time I've asked you what's wrong, and I'm all totally annoyed. So, like, what's wrong?"

"You already sound annoyed," Brendan said. "Why ten?"

"I like round numbers." Aaron shoved his hands in his pockets. "What's going on?"

"I fucked something up," he muttered. "Something important. Go away."

"Call this a wild guess but I'm going to say it had something to do with Ian turning up in my room a while ago-- which is actually your room, of course-- and he was flipping out because you were in love and he'd fucked it all up by pressuring you into a fishing trip." Aaron ran his hand through his hair again-- he really couldn't keep his hands out of there, and he started looking like a mad scientist after a while with the way it fluffed out-- and gave him a close squinting look, as though he were the one staring into the sun. "I figured he was using a metaphor or I just heard wrong, but you do have your fishing stuff out. Didn't we just finish fishing?"

"What do you want, Aaron?" Brendan asked, tiredly. Aaron sat down next to him on the stoop.

"I wanted to hear your half, man. To be your willing ear and confidante. Tell me anything."

"It's not going to help."

"Oh, shut up. You already know I'm right, so we can just skip the hour of me convincing you of that bit too."

"I don't feel like it."

"It's love-related, isn't it? Just tell me already."

"_Fine_." He clenched his teeth on the word. "I-- I started noticing someone a while ago, okay? And it wouldn't work. For a lot of reasons. And I'm trying to stop but I can't, and I don't really want to even though I know I should."

"What kind of reasons?" Aaron asked. "Come on, just let it out."

"It's complicated. We-- this person-- it's just not possible, okay?"

Aaron nodded, as if it all made perfect sense. "So it's a guy. You wouldn't be avoiding pronouns if it weren't. And now you're having a crisis of sexuality after twenty three years of uncomplicated skirt chasing."

Brendan figured anything he said was going to come out too fast or not fast enough, so he settled for silence and hoping he would spontaneously combust and be spared everything thereafter.

"I---" Aaron stopped. "Wow, you'd think this is the kind of thing you'd rehearse for, right? I dunno what the standard thing to say in this situation is, but you know you're my friend no matter what you do." One beat of silence for the follow-up Brendan knew he was going to make. "Or who."

"Shut up," Brendan said. Something loosened inside him though, a fear he hadn't even been willing to admit to himself even after Aaron's fantasy performance, and he had to smile. He punched Aaron's shoulder and Aaron let him.

Aaron let him lean against his shoulder after the punch as well. Aaron was good to do that sort of thing with, had never been self-conscious about hugging. He always knew the right grip and amount of time to hang on, the right times to talk during it and when not to, a little bit bony but solid and reassuring.

"Dude, that is such an old joke," he finally said. And before he could lose his courage, he rushed on with, "I didn't know. I didn't really feel that way until recently. Maybe it's just the-- person. Guy. And it's just-- yeah. Weird. Good, but weird."

"Mmm."

"And terrifying."

"Yeah." Aaron shrugged. "Sometimes you can't help what turns you on. I once saw this weird Japanese thing, right? And I don't want to freak you out or anything, but there were, like squid involved. Tentacles, anyway. And this chick was in it, and there was-- I can't even go into it, man. She had one in, like, her _nose_. And you know, for a week afterwards I couldn't help thinking about it when I jerked off."

"Really?"

"Well, no," Aaron admitted. "It was more like a month. And I know that's sort of different than noticing guys along with girls, so the metaphor falls down a little. But. It's like-- it's not exactly that some things just happen, it's that they happen but you don't notice them right away, you know?"

"Yeah," Brendan said. "I guess. Shit. You're actually good at this."

"Fuck, man, all Californians can do this. Didn't you know, we have, like, innate skills on relationships and love and sudden bouts of homosexuality? It's like inner zen or something."

"You are so full of shit," Brendan said, sniggering at the same time. "And you're at least half Texan by now. And half gay."

"Don't I know it." Aaron smiled a little. "We all are." And before Brendan could question that, Aaron continued on. "So, what's the real problem? You seem to be okay with it being a guy. Is it the guy himself?"

"It's--" Brendan sighed. "You know how you were talking about people in the sport? It's like that. Not you," he added hastily, before Aaron could open his mouth. "No offense to you. But I don't want it to get awkward between him and me. I don't even know if he is, you know, that way. I'm pretty sure he's not. I'm positive."

"It's not one of the Australians, is it?" Aaron asked. "Because I can see how that would get awkward, what with the distance and the only meeting once a year, if that. Or Kitajima, because that would just be _awkward_."

"It's not Kitajima. Or an Australian."

"I still don't see a problem. You can be friends with someone and still race them, so why can't you be involved with someone and race them? We can all separate what we do in the pool with what we do out of it. If he's in your events, even. If he's not, no problem. I know guys in the pool who're involved."

"It's not like that," Brendan said. He hit the ground with his fist. "I don't want to ruin what's already-- Wait, who do you know that's involved?"

"We'll get back to that," Aaron said. His face had gone distantly thoughtful. "You don't want to ruin what?"

"Anything," Brendan said. "Everything. He's really-- it just wouldn't happen."

"You know something?" Aaron said, still absently. "I think you should get something to drink. You're probably dehydrated and not thinking straight."

"You're mental," Brendan protested, but he let Aaron pull him back inside.

***

He would need to do a load of laundry, Brendan thought vaguely. He sipped at his glass of water and stared around his room. Possibly, he should burn everything he took on the trip too. That might help. There were footsteps in the hall, and he turned around to tell Aaron his intention.

Ian walked in and took Brendan's glass of water away. He put it carefully down on Brendan's bedside table, moving a book under it first.

"Hey!" Brendan said in surprise.

"Yeah, me too," Ian said, and kissed him.

It was awkward, just like Brendan thought it would be, a clash of lips and teeth, neither of them sure where to put their hands let alone tongues, noses bumping at least once. It was soft and hard and a little uncomfortable because of the angle their heads were at, wet and hot and indescribably wonderful all the same. When Ian pulled away, his mouth had that same swollen appearance it had had in the tent again.

Hope hurt almost as much rushing back in as it did rushing out. But in a better way, somehow.

"Where'd you come from?" Brendan finally asked, in what he was pretty sure was his least intelligent tone ever.

"I never left," Ian said. "Also, I made Aaron take those boxes out of your closet, but he's probably still going to visit a lot. Can we sit down? My neck hurts."

That at least settled the question of whether Brendan had a pod-person Ian on his hands, from the land of suddenly gay Olympic swimmers.

"Okay," Ian announced. "Aaron gave me an index card and he said you're not allowed to interrupt me while I read it. But actually, he didn't write anything on the card, he just drew a picture that's kinda rude, so I'm just gonna say-- don't interrupt-- that I wish you had said something sooner and you're my friend no matter what but I would like to do stuff that friends don't necessarily do and also, I like you a lot. Like that."

Brendan thought that he was trying to form words like "what" and "oh" and "good." He was still trying to wrap his brain around the "stuff friends don't necessarily do." He shut his mouth. "I didn't think-- your faith-- religion-- God-- _what_?"

"Oh." Ian looked guilty. "I thought. Um. I figured _you_ thought it was a sin. And I didn't want to interfere with your moral beliefs or anything, so I figured I'd just leave it alone and if you didn't make a move, then. Well."

"_My_ moral beliefs?" Brendan tried to parse that out in his mind. "So you don't think Aaron and Michael and Lance Armstrong and whoever are going to go to hell and burn for the rest of eternity?"

"Well, I figure Aaron is," Ian said. "But more because he's, you know, Aaron. And Michael might because he would always eat the last of the ice cream and then put the empty container back in the bus freezer when we were on tour. Lance, I dunno. And you might if you don't start participating and making me feel like I'm molesting you or something."

"Oh. Okay." He moved his hands slowly to Ian's collar, running a finger along the inside of Ian's shirt. "Okay, I just don't want you to think that I was knocking your religion or your morals, because I know it's all important to you, and religion is all weird with the, you know, gayness, and I just figured that it would be the most important thing to you and that you would react with. Um."

"Religion?" Ian asked.

"Disgust," Brendan said. "Anger with me. Awkwardness. Rejection, and all that."

"You're the _Catholic_," Ian reminded him. "That's your scene."

"Catholics only like sex if it's all dark and conflicted. We love sex not because of all the kids, but because we love feeling guilty about it." Brendan realized he wasn't making any sense. "Never mind. Fuck it. C'mere."

"You idiot," Ian said, but he was smiling. "Didn't you go to Sunday school? First John, chapter four, verse twelve."

Brendan thought hard. "Help me out here."

"God is love," Ian said, and crawled on top of him again. Brendan thanked God privately in his head for being so obliging, and also for the fact Brendan had bought a queen sized bed because it gave enough room to roll around while letting them stay tangled up. There was a hand on the outside of his pants, grabbing him dirtily, and Ian's mouth against his mouth, kissing him sweetly. His cock felt like it would tear through his pants, and he totally was going to have to do laundry on this set of clothes too.

He finally ended up on top, and rested his forehead against Ian's. "This is kind of insane, dude."

"I'm kind of terrified," Ian admitted. "And I don't know what I'm doing at all. I like it, though. It feels right. And I think Aaron is down in your kitchen, eating all your leftover Chinese takeout but I really want to keep doing this anyway."

"It's okay," Brendan said. The best part was that it really was, all of it. "It's all good. You wanna shower with me? And we can see how it goes?"

"_Oh_ yeah," Ian said, and smiled one more time. "But I'm not wearing a bikini." Brendan closed his eyes and he could still see that smile, floating in front of the darkness behind his eyes.

Somehow things had turned out okay; he had gotten through it all and it had worked out for the best against the odds. It was almost too much, but not quite; he was on a bed in a sun-splattered room with the taste of one of his best friend's mouth in his mouth, and another friend close by, not too far away, but just right. And it was good to have friends, good to know that things had worked out after all, and that when he opened his eyes it would still be that way.

Brendan opened his eyes and smiled back.


End file.
